


The Bull

by TheTetrarch



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTetrarch/pseuds/TheTetrarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This one's about a Bull. And Buck. Oh, and a little thing called 'animal magnetism' …</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Chapter 1**

_"_ Dear God in the foothills – what in the name of Sam Hill is _that?"_

Buck Wilmington was standing outside the sheriff's office, the coffee mug in his hand tilting dangerously as he stared open-mouthed at the apparition sauntering unconcernedly down the main street of fair Four Corners.

"Dear Lord …" Ezra Standish emerged from the office doorway and stood beside Buck, lean face slack with wonder.

"Is that what I think it is, Buck?" J.D.'s hazel gaze widened with curiosity.

The three regulators watched the cowhand on the little mustang impatiently attempt to hurry down the street under the frankly amazed gaze of the populace of Four Corners, the man's face red with effort and embarrassment.

But it wasn't the frustrated cowhand that was causing the stir of excitement rippling through the groups of inhabitants now beginning to gather on the boardwalks and in doorways – no siree, the object of their perusal and whispers was attached to the cowhand by a rather frail and worn piece of string.

"It's … it's a - "

"It's a bull, J.D." Josiah's baritone voice bubbled with amusement. The big man emerged from the office, book and coffee cup in hand, tickled mightily at the amazement overwhelming his stunned comrades. "A Zebu, to be precise."

"A … a zee … zee – what?"

"A Zebu. Zeeee … buuuuu. Zebu. They come from India."

J.D.'s hazel eyes once more returned to the strange apparition wandering behind the now fuming cowhand.

"Shit, that has got to be the ugliest goddamned thing I ever saw." Chris Larabee's voice was soft with shock as he peered from the open doorway.

_You got that right, ol' dog …_

Buck sighed.

The beast certainly was odd-looking. It strolled nonchalantly behind the cowhand, massive dewlap swaying with every step, happy to be led by the absurd piece of string attached to the wooden peg in its nose.

But every which way you looked at it, the thing was ugly. There was none of the angular, wild grace of the Texas Longhorn with its eight-foot spread of lethal horns. Nor did it have the rich, red curls and sturdy short-legged frame of the Hereford now beginning to make its appearance on the American grasslands. Nope. The poor critter was just plain ugly.

The long, narrow face was topped by lyre-shaped horns that spread backwards – entirely the wrong way around for defensive purposes – and the beast's ears … well, God help it, they were too big, and drooped and flapped about like a hound dog's. But what made it worse was the thing had a hump. A great, big hump over its withers, that wobbled fatly when it walked. And as for the colour … Buck winced. The beast was the dead off-white of a fish's belly.

To top it all, the animal was enormous. Buck reckoned the big sonofabitch weighed at least a ton.

The now-cursing cowhand finally drew to a halt in front of the office and decanted from the saddle, hauling a crumpled piece of paper from a pocket.

"You the Law 'round here?"

"Name's Dunne – J.D. Dunne. I'm the sheriff, an' these are my associates – "

J.D. proffered a hand. The cowhand shook it suspiciously, eyeing the young man who scarcely seemed old enough to be out of short britches. When nobody laughed, he carried on.

"Makin' a delivery – I was told to leave this … this * _thing*_ with you fellas 'til it c'n be collected. Came in on the train, an' I was paid ten dollars to deliver it here – 'bout ninety dollars short if'n you ask me."

He handed J.D. the paper. The young sheriff's eyes became round as he read the contents.

"You mean this is Jed Sommers' new seed bull?"

The cowhand stared back grimly.

"Don't know. Don't care. Ain't my problem no more."

He offered J.D. the string, then had second thoughts, and handed the grubby twine to a still open-mouthed Buck Wilmington. Buck took it, unthinking. The bull stood affably, then it grunted and a ball of semi-digested food travelled up the throat and popped into the animal's mouth with a burp. The aroma of pickled grass filled the air as it began chewing its cud.

Free of his interminable burden, the cowhand swung back into the saddle, and with a whoop left Four Corners a whole lot quicker than he had arrived.

"Dammit! This thing ain't supposed to be here for another week!" J.D. glanced at the bovine apparition before him. "What the hell are we gonna do with it until Jed comes to pick it up?"

Jed Sommers was a young rancher, a newcomer to the area, hard-working and far-sighted. The Seven knew he had put his ranch on the line to buy this bull. For the life of him, J.D. couldn't understand why.

The bull suddenly swallowed its cud and blinked myopically at the men before it, then the massive head swung around to sniff at Buck's sleeve. The moist muzzle twitched as the creature took in the new smells around it, then a long, prehensile tongue crept out and rasped against Buck's hand. Buck jumped in surprise, and jerked his hand away, wiping it on his pants leg. A light glinted in the bull's limpid brown eyes, and the tongue came out again, this time pulling at Buck's shirtsleeve.

"Goddammit!" Buck tugged his sleeve, now very damp, out of the tongue's curling grasp.

"Well, well!" Ezra had regained his composure and was peering over J.D.'s shoulder at the paper. "It appears this magnificent example of bovine masculinity has a name, Mr Wilmington." Ezra's face was deadpan, but the emerald eyes danced with mischief. "Our new friend is called Roland."

None of them missed the sudden twitch of the pendulous ears as Ezra uttered the word.

"Good Lord - it knows its name." Chris' eyebrows hitched a little.

"You say you seen these animals before, Josiah?" J.D. was getting mighty curious now, the strange beast working on his imagination.

"Yup. Seen 'em in India. Hindus think a lot of 'em seein' as the great god Siva rode one – except his name was Nandi. He was Siva's mount, attendant, and suchlike – plus Nandi's the guardian of all four-footed animals. You'll see cows wandering into folk's houses, helpin' themselves to food from stalls – an' folks just let 'em. Regarded as an honour and a blessing."

Josiah's eyes grew distant with memories, still seeing the crowds, the colours, smelling the long-gone scent of spices and ordure, hearing the ever-present sounds of teeming human existence. He smiled.

"Went to Benares once – a Holy city." The smile became wistful. "Ahh, the sun settin' over the Ganges, the smell of the burning g _hats_ … and you sure as hell ain't seen anythin' 'til you've seen the Festival of Light …" Josiah was on a roll now, the images coming quick and strong. "Lord, that sure is a sight to behold, boy."

"Yeah, Josiah – but what do we do with the bull?" J.D. was now getting a tad frustrated.

Josiah came back to earth with a bump.

"Huh? Oh, he shouldn't be a problem, Zebu're pretty handy. Sure seems to have taken a likin' to you, Buck."

Buck had noticed. The bull was now trying to eat his shirt, the wet tongue licking enthusiastically at the soft material. Pushing the huge head away didn't seem to be working, and the big beast appeared to revel in the attention.

"Give him a scratch, Buck – he's pretty quiet." Josiah grinned at Buck's discomfiture.

Buck raised an eyebrow in doubt.

"You think, huh?"

Josiah shrugged.

Buck reached out with a reluctant hand and began to scratch the heavily muscled neck. The bull's eyes became hazy with delight, his neck arched and his head began to bob up and down in rhythm with the scratch.

"That, Buck, is one happy bull." Chris' face creased with amusement at the baffled look on his oldest friend's face. "You still got what it takes, stud."

J.D.'s youthful face lit up with a wide grin.

"Yep. It's that ol' _animal maggotism_ workin' its magic, Buck."

Buck growled in sudden irritation and extreme embarrassment.

"You hush up, kid! You start talkin' like that an' I'm gonna have to whup you into the middle of next week!"

The scratching stopped in an instant – but Roland wanted more. The big head began to rub up and down on Buck's chest, smearing drool and bull-snot all over Buck's best shirt. The shirt he had every intention of taking off in the honeyed presence of Miss Blossom this very evening.

Buck's loud and detailed protestations were cut off as the regulators saw Vin riding into town at a lope, obviously relieved to be finishing his tour of duty patrolling Four Corners' environs. The relief was short-lived.

Vin's misbegotten horse had never seen a Zebu before.

Peso spotted the strange beast and his eyes instantly rolled in fear, his forelegs propped and he slewed sideways, desperate to get away from the monster before him.

For probably the very first time in his life, Vin Tanner fell off his horse.

He was so surprised he forgot to relax and roll, and the impact did something pretty awful to his ribs, the pain driving a cry of pure agony from his chest. Peso shied away at the curled-up figure on the ground, now moaning softly, and the black gelding high-tailed it up the street to the livery stable, giving a final sun-fishing buck as he reached his goal.

" _Vin_!" Chris hit the street at a run, followed closely by a gaggle of shocked regulators – all except for Buck. A very unhappy and panic-stricken Buck, now frantically trying to figure out what to do with the bull so he could help his friend. Finally, out of sheer desperation, he tied the pathetic piece of string to the hitching post and pelted over to Vin's side.

"J.D.!" Chris' voice was low with urgency. "Get Nathan – dammit, kid, _hurry_!"

The black-clad gunman crouched beside the hurt tracker, trying hard to fight the urge to gather the wounded man up and carry him bodily to the clinic – but they had to wait for Nathan. Only Nathan could determine if they could move Tanner without killing him by puncturing a lung, or worse still, hurting his spine.

"Vin? Vin, can you hear me?"

Blue eyes opened and glared painfully at the worried-as-hell Larabee.

"I fe …fell off … my go … goddamn horse!" The Texas accent was thick with pain and indignation.

Despite the worry, his friends grinned at the obvious embarrassment in the tracker's voice.

"Well, Mr Tanner – if it's any consolation, you did it with both grace and a certain amount of flare. Indeed, I think it would be difficult to find anyone better at such skilled aerial displays as your good self." The humour in Ezra's lilting southern voice tempered his concern.

"'Ceptin' J.D. … " Vin's voice was warm, despite the pain.

"The boy sure can _fly_ … " Buck put a reassuring hand on Vin's arm.

"Back up, fellas, an' let me in there!" Nathan Jackson dropped to his knees beside the recumbent and sweating Tanner, dumping his medical bag in the dirt.

The rest of the Seven and a goodly proportion of the citizens of Four Corners hovered like curious bees, concerned, worried or just downright nosy.

Nathan gently checked limbs and neck, then went to work on Tanner's dusty old coat, easing it aside to palpate the abdomen. Satisfied, skilful fingers then ran over the bruised torso of the tracker and located the 'give' of broken ribs.

"Bu … bust a couple … huh ...?" Vin winced.

"Yep. At least two, I reckon - "

Nathan was interrupted by the most godawful noise he had heard in his life.

The air was rent by a high-pitched, choir-boy bellow, piercing and repetitive, an in-drawn, noisy breath followed by an ear-splitting _castrato_ bawl. And it went on, and on, and on …

"Dear God …" Chris winced as the notes of each bellow hit his inner ear while watching Nathan's face grimace at the racket. He could only hear every other word, Nathan's voice drowned out by the deafening row.

" _Vin …_ "

Bawl.

" … _clinic_ …"

Wheeze.

" ... _goddamn noise_ …"

Bellow.

"… _Yosemite's corral_ … "

Gurgle.

" … _NOW!_ ..."

Roland was heartbroken. The big bull stood, forlorn and drooping, tied ridiculously to the hitching post by a rotting piece of string, robbed of the one thing he adored most in his life.

Buck Wilmington.

Buck was the Holder Of The String, and therefore the single focus of Roland's life. Well, at least until the next cow came along. But right at this moment in time Buck Wilmington was the only thing that concerned the bull's somewhat limited brain, and he bellowed his dismay to the world and its brother as loudly as he could.

Chris turned a thunderous face to a wide-eyed ladies' man.

"BUCK! - BULL! - LIVERY STABLE!"

Buck took the hint. He hurriedly untied the pitiful piece of string, and the huge animal's bawls stopped instantly in mid-wheeze. The tongue crept out once more to slurp at Buck's shirt. This time, he smacked the beast hard on the moist muzzle. Roland blinked, his dim brain not understanding why the Adored One would hurt him so. But in one short moment the thought slipped from the few active cells in his brain, and once more he began to nuzzle at the soft shirtsleeve.

Buck turned back to check on Vin, to find to his dismay what appeared to be the whole population of Four Corners staring at him accusingly. Chris and Josiah were preparing to lift the injured tracker and carry him to the clinic, but the glares from the rest of the crowd wounded the big-hearted gunman to his very soul. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then his shoulders sagged. Oh, what was the point …

He yanked on the fragile twine and headed slowly towards the livery stable, the big bull plodding majestically behind him, hump and dewlap gently swaying with every step.

A moment later, J.D. appeared beside him, the young man keeping pace with his _compadre_.

"I'll come with you, Buck, an' take care of that damn' mustang of Vin's, if you like."

Buck turned saddened cobalt eyes to his young friend.

"Wasn't my fault, kid – damn' beast just threw a hissy-fit at this – this - THING!"

He gesticulated angrily at the benign and now blissfully happy Roland.

J.D. put a consoling hand on Buck's broad shoulder.

"I know, Buck. It's just you were holdin' the critter at the time …"

Buck sighed gently.

_Life can sure be shitty at times …_

The thought just made him feel even more depressed.

On reaching the livery stable, J.D. headed inside to unsaddle and feed a mightily amused Peso, while Buck spent the next ten minutes arguing noisily with a stubborn Yosemite, the blacksmith determined not to have such a strange and vastly ugly creature anywhere near his precious horses.

Finally, after much heated discussion and the promise of twice the amount of money Yosemite would normally charge for harbouring the beast, Roland was turned out into a corral on his own and given an armful of sweet lucerne hay to keep him occupied. It soon became obvious that Roland only gave vent to his feelings when he was tied up. Buck tucked the string neatly around the lyre-shaped horns, and left the animal to his own devices, heading back to the clinic at a fast walk, a limping J.D. in tow suffering from a sly Peso-bite to his backside.

For an hour or so, Roland happily munched the rich hay, then he ambled for a while around the corral, the evening light casting weird shadows from the odd animal as it paced slowly around the enclosure.

Then, as darkness finally fell, Roland decided he was bored. He was well-fed, well-watered, comfortable … but lonely. Roland just hated being lonely. The Adored One was somewhere out there in those strange corrals that humans liked to inhabit, and there wasn't a cow in sight to assuage his desire for companionship.

So, deep in his dim, bovine mind, Roland decided to remedy the situation.

Inserting his massive head through the corral rails, he leaned his enormous bulk against the creaking poles and began to push …

TBC


	2. The Bull - Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

Ezra P. Standish spread the cards on the green baize of the table – a full house.

"Damn!"

Buck threw his cards on the table in disgust, noting with frustration the growing smile of satisfaction on the gambler's face. Ezra was decidedly smug these days. Ever since he had managed to scrape together enough funds to buy back the Standish Tavern – and schemed, plotted and finally finagled his mother into parting with the place by some so-far-undisclosed act of blackmail – he was indeed a very happy man.

Not only that, but he had just this week replaced all of the gaming tables in the establishment with good-quality new ones, shipped from an exclusive manufacturer back east. He had gone seriously into debt to do it, but the results were worth it - the Tavern had immediately begun to attract more discerning customers, the riff-raff trudging across the street to Four Corner's other saloon where the whisky was no more than rot-gut, the beer weak and lukewarm, and the food definitely questionable when it came to quality.

He sighed happily.

Josiah shook his head in defeat and threw his abysmal hand face downward on the rich green of the baize. He should have known better than to bluff with only a pair of eights to his name, and he took a sip of his whiskey to try and deaden the disappointment.

"If you so much as let one drop of alcohol fall on my new tables, Mr Sanchez, you will be payin' for it's re-coverin' from that meagre pittance you call an income."

Josiah cocked an eyebrow at the gambler.

"Why don't you just deal, Ez, before I forget that I'm supposed to be a man of God an' do some furniture rearrangin' of my own …"

Standish smirked. With a dimpled smile beginning to spread across his lean face he gathered together the cards and began to shuffle, the cards whispering and rippling in practised fingers. Green eyes twinkled with delight as he started to deal.

 _Yessiree_ , Josiah thought grimly,  _Ezra looks just like the cat that ate the cream_ … Damn, but Ezra had a talent for pissin' off a man.

The three peacekeepers were just sorting their cards when a commotion began outside. Voices were raised in consternation, then yells of fear rang out as there was a loud  _CRASH_ as something substantial collapsed. The whole building shuddered.

Three guns were out of their holsters before the cards hit the table. Buck, Ezra and Josiah were on their feet and on the point of heading out of the batwing doors, convinced there was some sort of riot erupting on the main street of fair Four Corners. But before they could move a human body pelted through the doors into the saloon, a body with arms waving in panic and a face blanched white with terror.

" _BUUUUUUULL!_ "

The unidentified body just kept going, exiting through the door behind the bar while the rest of the better-quality drunks, barflies and ne'er -do-wells that inhabited the Standish Tavern gaped as a mountain burst in through the batwing doors.

It was a slow-moving mountain, to be sure, a bull-shaped mountain with approximately half of Yosemite's corral fence draped tastefully around its neck. Roland had come looking for his Adored One. The scent had been elusive, but dogged bovine that he was, he had tracked Buck better than a blue-tick hound on the trail of a grizzly.

Roland was having trouble pushing his way through the doorway with his necklace of fence, but he heaved his huge bulk forwards and dragged the wood through anyway, taking most of the doors and a goodly portion of the supporting timbers with him.

Once through, he stood in the doorway, head swinging from side to side as he searched for the scent of Wilmington, Holder of the String, Person Whom He Adored. Ah-hah! There he was! The small eyes blinked with delight and he stepped majestically into the room, scattering drunks before him like rats leaving a sinking ship.

He sauntered slowly across the room, hump and corral fence swaying elegantly with every step, crushing tables and chairs without a thought. They were reduced to match-sticks, nothing but splinters and tangled green baize, as Roland sedately meandered towards a Buck Wilmington standing frozen like a mesmerised rabbit.

Buck gripped his gun held in nerveless fingers, the sheer enormity of the disaster unfolding in front of him reducing him to a reasonable imitation of a floundering catfish as his mouth opened and shut wordlessly.

Josiah had to admire Buck's steadfastness in the face of this calamity. The preacher watched fascinated, as Roland halted beside Buck and that long, prehensile tongue crept out once more and licked Wilmington's unresisting face, leaving a trail of goo and frothy saliva bubbles on the dark moustache. Then, with a heaving sigh of pleasure, Roland folded his legs and lay down in a groaning heap on the saloon floor, crushing bits of fence and the last of Ezra's much-prized gaming tables beneath his enormous bulk. Tucking his legs more firmly underneath him and shifting slightly to make himself more comfortable, Roland burped up some cud and began chewing contentedly.

Silence reigned.

"Ezra? Ez … you all right, son?" Josiah's soft baritone broke the spell.

All hell broke loose as clients – drunk or otherwise – exited the Standish Tavern in record time, and in less than a minute the room was disturbingly empty. Apart, that is, from three flabbergasted regulators and one very content bull.

But Josiah had no time to worry about that. He was concerned about Ezra.

Standish's face was bone-white, the skin stretched taut, eyes wide with horror.

"J … Jos … tables … bull …"

Now Josiah was really worried. Ezra was completely at a loss for words. This was serious.

"What the …?"

Larabee's voice echoed around the room as a black-clad figure appeared in the wrecked doorway and the remainder of one of the bat-wing doors finally collapsed and crunched the gunslinger's right foot.

" _Holy shit!_ "

JD scooted past Chris as the gunman hopped painfully around cursing succinctly, JD sure that he was hearing a few interesting epithets even Buck didn't know.

"Oh my Lord …"

Utter devastation greeted the young sheriff. The interior was liberally littered with wrecked wood and shards of tables, and the smell of spilled whiskey and stale beer floated aromatically through the dust-filled atmosphere. Broken glasses gleaming dully in the winking light of Ezra's new chandelier, the one he had had sent from New Orleans only two weeks ago. Unfortunately, the rope holding the cut-glass chandelier was tied to a ring set beside the doorway, and as the remains of the bat-wing door bounced off Chris' foot the resulting weakening of that particular board brought an ominous creaking from the ceiling.

Without warning the board was wrenched from the saloon's wall by the weight of the chandelier as it plummeted downwards to crash and shatter in a million diamond-bright pieces on the ruined floor, followed by a large section of the ceiling plaster.

The noise make Roland blink.

He paused in his chewing for a moment and swallowed, his ears flicking gently as dust and plaster peppered his off-white hide. But as the dust settled Roland decided all was well and burped again, slowly resuming his chewing.

Chris' cussing faded to soft, evil mutterings, and Josiah slowly holstered his Schofield – but Ezra still pointed the Remington at the intruder, Roland lying apparently unconcerned amid the partially demolished saloon. Buck just stood, mouth open, cobalt eyes wide with shock.

Now was not the time for angry outbursts, Josiah decided. That could come later, when Nate had checked out Larabee's battered foot and made sure Ezra wasn't sliding into permanent catatonia.

"Buck …" Josiah kept his voice low and reasonable. No answer. He tried again. "Buck … I reckon it might be a good idea to get the beast out of here, don't you?"

Cobalt eyes blinked as though their owner had awoken from a deep sleep.

"Huh?"

"Buck … the bull? Get him out of here?"

"No."

Josiah turned at the soft voice. Ezra was trying to thumb back the hammer on the Remington, but his hand was shaking so much the digit couldn't get a grip.

"Ez, you can put the gun away now …"

"No Josiah – Ah am now going to shoot the bull." Ezra actually sounded quite reasonable, Josiah thought.

"You can't shoot the bull Ezra – it's Jed Sommers' bull – he paid a lot of money for the beast - "

"Josiah … please remove yourself from the line of fire. Ah am going to shoot the bull. Right now. This minute." Ezra's accent was getting thicker by the second.

"Ez …" Josiah had moved to stand in front of the Remington, not exactly the greatest of ideas he realised, as Ezra managed finally to cock the hammer. Roland turned an amiable bovine visage to gaze benignly on the incensed southerner.

Buck suddenly clicked into reality. Ezra. Gun. Bull. Saloon.  _Oh God. The saloon …_

Sliding his revolver back into its holster he bent down and began feverishly to untie the string looped around Roland's horns, the big animal trying his utmost to breathe affectionately on Buck's face.

Josiah tried again, valiantly ignoring Larabee's curses as JD helped him hobble to the only unbroken chair in the room.

"Ezra … give me the gun …"

"I say let him shoot the sonofabitch …" Larabee's growling tones just sent more plaster dust raining from the ceiling. Or rather, what was left of it.

_Chris Larabee, if I had the time right now I'd kick your ass all the way to Hell and back …_

Josiah gritted his teeth as he tried to keep his temper under control. Larabee sometimes had the goldarndest knack for saying the wrong damn' thing at the wrong damn' time …

It was at that moment Roland decided to heave his not inconsiderable bulk to his feet. Now as it happened, the lucerne hay that Yosemite had fed him earlier had been of a particularly fine quality, and Roland's four-chambered stomach had processed it in double-quick time. So as Roland arose he did the time-honoured thing that cattle do when they stand up.

He defecated.

His back arched, his magnificently plumed tail rose akimbo, and he groaned with relief as he dumped a richly green and very runny pile of manure on Ezra's fine wooden floor. To finish off, he coughed genteely, and the last few dollops were sprayed artfully on the nearest upright objects – which in this case were a certain Ezra P. Standish and a dumbfounded Josiah Sanchez.

Ezra suddenly looked about ready to burst into tears.

"Josiah?"

Josiah stood, feeling a particularly large, warm gob of green, stinking goo slide down his cheek.  _Now_ he was pissed.

"Yeah, Ez?" The baritone voice was calm, controlled, and to anyone who knew the big preacher, absolutely terrifying.

"I think …" Ezra was having difficulty getting the words out, partly because of shock but mostly because he couldn't bear the idea of getting something unspeakable in his mouth. "I think I'm coming down with one of my Sick Headaches …" Ezra swallowed. He thought he was going to be sick.

Josiah's azure eyes turned to Buck, now looking at his two shit-covered  _compadres_ with horror.

"Buck?"

Buck Wilmington finally found his voice.

"Yeah?"

"Buck …" Josiah tried to compose himself as best he could, but it was a little difficult to be dignified when you were covered in bull-shit. "Buck. Take the bull away. Now. Before I turn him into beef steak with my bare hands. And you know I can do it, too. And then … and then I may just come after you. What I'm gonna do when I catch you I ain't figured out yet. But it will be painful, Buck. Very, very painful.  _Comprende_?"

"But Josiah - " Buck couldn't understand why everyone was blaming  _him_. It wasn't his fault the goddamn beast had taken a shine to him!

"Not now, Buck." Josiah turned dangerously calm, clear blue eyes to the big gunman. "Later. Much, much later. All right?"

Buck sighed. He looked around at the catastrophe laid out before him and winced. Lord knows what price Ezra would exact from his hide, even though it was Jed's bull that had done the damage. He wasn't responsible one little bit! But that sure as hell wouldn't stop the gambler from bleeding him dry for months.

The devastated ladies' man caught hold of Roland's piece of string and yanked, but he didn't even really need to lead the big animal – Roland followed on happily, still wearing the remains of Yosemite's corral.

Josiah watched, blue eyes smouldering like the very pits of hell, as Buck and bull exited through the hole left by Roland's entry into the saloon, brushing past a cursing and very sore Chris Larabee, the glare the gunman sent in Roland's direction making no impact whatsoever.

Josiah managed to ease the Remington from Ezra's unresisting fingers and saw the pain beginning in the green eyes. Perhaps Ez wasn't kidding – as if Standish ever joked about such things – and he really was coming down with one of those debilitating headaches he suffered from on occasion, although to be fair it was usually after one of Maude Standish's rare visits. Maude had a way of driving Ezra nuts, that was for sure.

"JD? I think you'd better go get Nathan. Ezra don't look too good. Oh, and while you're at it you'd better tell him about Chris' foot. He might have broken somethin' …"

JD hurried out of the saloon into the clear summer night, Larabee's detailed description of what he was going to do to the bull and to Buck Wilmington in that order ringing in his ears.

Josiah caught Ezra by the elbow and thought about where he should take the gambler first – the bath-house or his room. Ezra sure was covered with a lot of shit. For a split second Josiah thought the situation was pretty apt. Ezra and bull-shit. Sounded just about right.

Sighing, he guided the unresisting gambler out of the wrecked saloon and headed towards the bath-house.

TBC


	3. The Bull - Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

Over the next couple of days Buck Wilmington's life became a living nightmare.

He was still trying to avoid Yosemite, the big blacksmith uttering loud and defamatory threats against Wilmington's life, and he had to bed the bull down behind Josiah's church. That, however, wasn't such a good idea when the tethered Roland set up such a racket that Josiah – now clean but still redolent with the aroma of bovine effluvia – came charging out of the church with a large and weighty piece of timber clutched in big hands. Josiah explained to a sputtering Wilmington that the bull would go a long way to feeding the Seminole village for a considerable length of time – the meat, of course, wind-dried into jerky – and if he didn't remove said bull _pronto,_ Buck would be hanging next to the dismembered Roland, also in suitably-sized and manageable portions.

Buck moved the bull.

His rendezvous with Miss Blossom also ended in unmitigated disaster. He had managed to tie Roland to the hitching post and kept him occupied with an armful of fodder he had wangled from JD, who in turn had finagled it out from under Yosemite's nose. JD's price for this piece of petty thievery was a promise from Buck to pay for his next six issues of _Saturday Night Magazine_ , a notoriously risqué publication that had JD taking far more cold baths than were good for him.

Unfortunately for Buck, Roland's consumption of fodder was far speedier than Buck's courtin' methods, and he had only managed to strip down to his red Empire combinations when Roland finished his last mouthful of feed, and his dim brain suddenly realised that the Adored One was once more absent without leave.

The noise was deafening, and did Buck's relationship with the succulent and very willing Miss Blossom no good at all. She informed Buck in no uncertain terms that his nights ensconced within her comfortable and warm feather bed were numbered if he didn't do something about the bull.

Things went from bad to worse when Buck realised that if he strayed more than five feet in any given direction from Roland the beast dissolved into mournful squeaky bellows, the animal bawling monotonously until Buck appeared and swore at him.

Unfortunately the cussin' made the respectable ladies of Four Corners put in an official complaint to JD, who had to take Buck to task on the matter. This was done outside the office of the jail as Buck couldn't leave Roland to go inside, with Mary Travis standing indignantly behind Chris, who sat outside glaring at his best and oldest friend with his foot – bandaged and swollen – propped on the chair beside him. Mary's presence was requested by JD, as she had told JD that if Buck didn't stop cussin' in front of the gang of children that followed Buck and Roland about just to hear what the big gunman would say next, then she would do her damndest to make sure JD was never elected sheriff again. Roland just watched Buck, curious as to why these strange humans spent a lot of time yelling at one another.

After two days of living hell, Buck sat down in front of what was left of the saloon and sighed in misery. Roland was happily lying down in front of the hitching rail, his Buck-sensor in full search mode. Checking that Buck was within range he burped up cud and relaxed. He was eating regularly, he had companionship, and the Adored One spoke to him constantly – albeit rather loudly – and he garnered plenty of attention from the small persons of Four Corners. Yes indeed, life was good.

Buck sighed again. Well, at least there was one good thing about having a bull as a friend. The children of Four Corners adored Roland. Once they had got over their amazement at his sheer bulk and the natural nervousness that accompanied being around a one-ton bull, they realised that Roland was extremely even-tempered. By the evening of the first day of Buck being afflicted with Roland, they had discovered that the big bovine loved attention.

In fact, once the matrons of the town had realised that their children were in absolutely no danger whatsoever of being squashed, gored or trampled by the beast, they discovered that they were actually on to a Good Thing. They knew exactly where their offspring were, they had a peace officer in constant attendance, and they had a built-in garbage disposal service for all things vegetarian in the shape of one Zebu bull.

Not only that, Roland was exceptionally amenable, and children from toddlers to teenagers could clamber over his huge frame in total safety. He never seemed to mind having his ears pulled, his tail teased or having small bodies scrambling over his broad back as he lay happily in the dust, jaw moving rhythmically as he chewed, eyes half closed with pleasure at all of the attention. Nothing seemed to faze him. Indeed, several of the more mischievous members of the little pack that swarmed around the beast let off a few firecrackers near him and all Roland did was blink in surprise. The offenders were swiftly apprehended and duly had their backsides paddled by their furious mothers.

But, Buck decided, things couldn't continue the way they were. Nobody but the children ever spoke to him, he couldn't go into the saloon for a drink to drown his woes as Ezra – speaking from his sick-bed – had banned him, Inez wouldn't feed him because he had upset Ezra, and when he swallowed his pride and went to unburden his woes to Josiah the big preacher made him stand outside the church and discuss it, as Roland would have been more than happy to lumber his way up the steps into the church and support Buck in his hour of need.

Dammit, thought Buck. If Jed Sommers couldn't come and get the sonofabitch, then he, Buck Wilmington, would take the damn bull to Jed.

The decision made, Buck went to saddle his horse. Roland heaved himself to his feet, shedding children like lice as he amiably waited for them all to get out of the way, and happily followed the Adored One down the street.

* * *

Buck Wilmington was dog tired and very grouchy.

He had been in the saddle for nearly a day now, and a journey that should only have taken him a day at the most was obviously going to take at least two. The reason for the delay was Roland. The bull sauntered happily along behind him, the huge body sedately plodding along, the bull's soft, moist muzzle never more than two feet away from the tail of Buck's big grey gelding.

If Buck touched the gelding into a trot, Roland couldn't keep up – he was hardly built for speed, and Roland would swiftly give up any attempt at a trot and stand, bawling loudly, while he waited for Buck to relent and return to fetch him.

The grey looked on the big beast with great suspicion, but reliable and even-tempered horse that he was, he bore the indignity of being associated with such a strange animal with resigned fortitude.

Buck reined in the grey for a moment or two and taking off his hat wiped sweat from his face. He knew that he would have to camp out for the night, and he decided the best place to stop would be Aqua Verde, a small pool that should take him no more than an hour to reach. Then he could water both horse and bull and then maybe cool off in the chill water and clean up a little.

He felt the grey shift uncomfortably beneath him and stamp with irritation. Buck sighed. Turning in the saddle he glared at Roland.

"Goddamit! Will you _stop_ that!"

Roland was at it again. As he couldn't get to Buck, he had taken to rasping his rough tongue in affection over the hindquarters of the grey, who although mortified by the attention nevertheless bore it stoically.

Buck shook his head in irritation and touched the big horse into a slow walk, and Roland, happy to follow blindly, fixed his gaze on the gelding's backside and wandered after the Adored One.

* * *

Aqua Verde was a small, spring-fed pool surrounded by stunted trees that sheltered the rocky edge of the clear water and added a welcome splash of green in an arid landscape, hence the ancient Spanish name for the place.

Buck had set up camp, and after lighting a small fire he had put on coffee and unsaddled the grey. After rubbing the animal down and giving him a feed, Buck left the horse to graze – he never needed to hobble the beast as the gelding would never stray from his master. He left Roland to his own devices, the huge bull following the gunman around the camp, content to stay wherever the Adored One decided to lay his hat for the night.

After having a restorative mug of coffee, Buck stripped down to his red Empire combinations and waded into the clear water of the pool, shuddering with pleasure at the icy chill just beneath the surface. He relaxed back and bobbed happily in the water, his tall, rangy frame enjoying the sheer luxury of it all, his joints easing as the aches and pains from the long ride vanished slowly.

Buck closed his eyes and sighed. Yes indeed, this was the life …

He was suddenly startled as the water was disturbed, large, sloppy waves lapping against his broad chest.

"What the -?"

He opened his eyes to see Roland gingerly immersing his sorry carcass in the pool, the big bull standing chest-high in the water as he made his way over to Buck, little waves ruffling at the beast's dewlap as he waded towards the Adored One.

"Aw hell! Can't you leave me alone, you … you … _moron_!"

Roland sighed happily as he reached Buck, the off-white hide glistening as droplets ran down his shoulders. Buck stood up, intent on leaving the pool to the bull, when a wave of water splashed Roland on his moist muzzle. He snorted.

Buck smirked.

"Don't like that, huh?"

He splashed Roland again. This time the bull shook long floppy ears as the droplets sprayed him, and spattered Buck with a shower of water.

Buck sneezed. Roland looked smug. Buck glared at the bull with mock anger.

"Soooo … you think that's funny, do ya? Well, my friend, that's nothing …"

He stretched out long arms and swiftly scooped handfuls of water at Roland, swamping the huge animal with large, uneven waves. This time Roland shook his head and caught Buck in a chill, drenching cascade of water. Buck yelled with the shock. He frowned.

"Why you ungrateful bag of bones … you … you …"

Buck could swear Roland was laughing at him. Now it was war.

For the next half-hour, Buck Wilmington and a one-ton Zebu bull frolicked like young 'uns in the water, splashing, snorting and yelling, and before Buck knew it he was having fun. Lots of fun. More fun than he had had in years. Even teasing JD and playing noxious tricks on Chris and Ezra wasn't quite the same as acting like a five-year-old child with a new toy. He roared and yelled and howled, discovering that Roland was not only placid but obviously had some sort of bovine sense of humour as he followed Buck around in the pool and snorted gobs of snot at him, taking great pleasure in Buck's bellows of revulsion. The grey gelding just looked on with disgust.

But soon the shadows began to lengthen and Buck realised he should get out of the water and dry off before the heat went out of the day. Wading ashore he stretched his long frame out on the small patch of grass and let the lingering heat dry him off, Roland following and standing contentedly only a yard away from where Buck lay.

As night fell, Buck dressed and settled down to food and a good night's sleep. His bedroll lay close to the fire, and he eased back on his saddle which doubled as a pillow, yawning noisily. He could hear the grey munching the short, sweet grass and Roland's quiet, huffing breath as the huge bull stood, dozing. The aroma of pickled grass accompanied a soft burp, and Buck smiled. The animal was nothing but a pain in the ass, that was for sure, but at least he was an amiable sonofabitch. He tipped his hat down over his eyes and began to drop into slumber, his thoughts drifting drowsily. He snorted to himself.

"Roland … what kind of stupid goddamn' name is that for a bull …"

His eyes snapped open suddenly as the ground trembled, and he became aware of a huge bulk lowering itself onto the ground beside him and a soft, moist muzzle rubbed against his arm. He lifted his hat to see Roland settling down for the night, his enormous body neatly parked beside Buck on the side furthest from the fire. The bull's massive head reached forward to check that the Adored One was within acceptable range, and reassured, Roland once more began to chew his cud. Buck shook his head resignedly. Damn' animal was crazy! But he had to admit to himself that Roland's body heat was comforting, and the big beast was quiet and gentle.

Before he could stop himself, he reached out a hand and scratched Roland between the eyes.

Roland grunted softly and bobbed his head up and down for a moment or two, eyes bugged out with pleasure. When Buck stopped, the bull leaned his head on the ground, hoping for more. Buck grinned.

"All right, stud, that's enough. You ain't gettin' any more, you dumb critter. Go to sleep, now. I promise you'll like it when we get to Jed's place. He's got all those tasty lookin' heifers all fancied up and rarin' to go, I betcha, and I know you are just gonna be one happy bull."

Buck lay drowsily, wrapped comfortably in his blanket. He glanced at Roland.

"Did you ever hear the one about the two bulls?"

Roland apparently hadn't, as his ears flicked for a moment or two. Buck shook his head.

"Well, y'see, there's an old bull and a young bull standin' on the top of a hill lookin' down at a right pretty bunch of heifers standin' in the draw. The young bull looks up at the old bull, eyes all shinin' an' happy, and says, 'Hey, ol' man! Why don't you an' me run down this hill and help ourselves to one or two of them pretty heifers?' The old bull looks down at the young bull, the young 'un so het up he can't hardly stand still, jigglin' and just full of dander." Buck checked to see if Roland was listening, and was pretty sure the bull was rapt with curiosity, so he continued. "So, the old bull sighs and shakes his head. 'No son,' he says, 'I don't think so.' The young bull can't believe his ears. 'Why the hell not, ol' man?' he yells, gettin' real upset. The old bull just smiles. 'Well, boy, here's what I think we should do. I reckon we should _walk_ down the hill and have us _all_ of them young heifers, don't you?'"

Buck chuckled with delight as he heard Roland huff to himself. The tall gunman thought for a moment and smiled, thinking how much the two bulls sounded like JD and Josiah. He turned over and relaxed. Tomorrow he would get the bull to Jed's, and he was finally free of his burden. He felt Roland's breath on his back as the animal did his usual check that Buck really was where he was supposed to be, and grinned.

"Go to sleep, Roly, you idiot."

Satisfied, Roland burped and cudded quietly, as Buck Wilmington slid into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Buck quietly broke camp and saddled up the big grey, and swinging into the saddle thought about the day to come. He reckoned it would take the better part of the day to get to Jed's, seeing how slow Roly was. Maybe it would be best if he stayed the night at Jed's after delivering the bull, and head back the next morning – without Roly to hold him up, Buck knew he could make it comfortably back to Four Corners around mid-afternoon, and then he could begin the job of getting back into his friends' good books, although he was pretty sure Ezra wouldn't be too forgiving just yet.

Buck sighed. He knew Jed Summers would offer to pay Ezra's damages, but he also knew Jed didn't have a spare dime to his name. Every penny he had went on buying the bull and improving his livestock, and the young rancher had a devoted wife with two small children and another on the way. But Jed being Jed, Buck knew the proud young man would be determined to pay his debts. Maybe Buck could figure something out before he got home.

Touching the grey into a slow walk, Buck headed away from Aqua Verde, the huge Zebu bull strolling happily in his wake.

* * *

Zeke Barnes swore.

Today of all days, his idiot brother had decided to be one big pain in the ass and make their day worse by putting a bullet in the head of one of their two wore-out cow ponies. The reason for his baby brother Abner's fit of pique was that the pony had slid on a piece of shale and twisted its fetlock, and Abner had been sent tumbling from the pony's back onto a mesquite bush, eliciting a shriek of pain and a great deal of cussin'. Once Abner had hauled his somewhat punctured carcass upright he had drawn his old Dragoon and put a lead ball in the pony's brainpan, dropping the emaciated animal to the ground in a heap, the animal's last, spasmodic kicks sending up a cloud of dust.

Zeke had in turn cussed out his baby brother, explaining to him in no uncertain terms that the posse chasing them for trying – unsuccessfully – to rob the stagecoach to Yuma, would now find it somewhat easier to catch them as they now only had one horse, and an exhausted one at that.

Abner had informed his worry-wart of a brother that as they were now into Colorado territory the posse would have given up long ago. Zeke countered that seein' as Abner had seen fit to put a hole in the stagecoach guard they probably had a big, juicy bounty on their heads that everyone and his brother would be lookin' to collect, and to hell with worryin' how much lead they put in the Barnes brothers in the process.

Abner shut up.

So they decided to walk for a while and let their remaining scrub pony gain a little of its strength back. But as they headed towards the old spring-fed pool of Aqua Verde, they heard a noise coming from over the rise to the south-east. It sounded like someone torturing an elephant. A long, drawn-out bawl of agony, followed by an exasperated baritone voice yelling abuse at the owner of the bawl. The bawl tailed off into a hiccuping honk, and the voice swore quietly.

"Goddammit, Roly! Get your ass movin', you big idiot! I can't wait all day … Jeez, will you stop _doing_ that!"

Abner and Zeke Barnes could hear a soft slurping sound, followed by a _thwack_ and a grunt of surprise.

"Leave my horse alone, Roly, y'hear?"

The two brothers looked at one another. The owner of the voice had mentioned a horse. But who the hell was Roly? No matter. If they could deal with the owner of the voice, the horse would fall into their eager hands and they could high-tail it and disappear into the badlands and out of harm's way until the furor died down. Zeke reached into his saddle boot and pulled out his old 1866 Winchester Henry rifle, and checked that it was loaded. Finding a convenient spot behind a tumble of rocks, they ground-hitched the exhausted pony and waited for the unseen rider to come into view.

Resting his rifle on a rock in readiness, Zeke worked the lever, pushing a bullet into the breech. He aimed at the sound of the voice, knowing that from this distance he couldn't miss. In a few minutes, the rider would be dead and the Barnes brothers would be one horse richer. Zeke Barnes smiled.

* * *

Buck Wilmington's temper was becoming somewhat frayed.

It was already mid-morning, and Roly had slowed to almost a crawl, the big bull becoming a little bored with just walking along and wanting to stop and graze. No amount of cajoling and pleading on Buck's part made a whit of difference, and when Buck tried to 'pony' the bull along all Roly did was begin to wander around in circles.

"ARGH!" Buck let out a yell of sheer frustration. Lifting his hat he ran long fingers through sweat-damp dark hair and swore quietly. Taking a deep breath he calmed himself. Only a few more hours, and he would be free. Free as a bird. He touched his heels to the big grey's sides and rode determinedly over the shallow rise, Roly ambling happily behind him.

* * *

Zeke's smile widened as the rider came into view, although he blinked a couple of times as the weirdest looking bull he had ever seen wandered over the rise behind the big grey gelding.

"Lord 'a-mighty!" Abner's whisper made Zeke hiss in annoyance. "That is sure one ugly critter!"

"Yeah … well, it don't matter Abner, cuz I might just decide to have us a couple of nice, big juicy beef steaks once we get rid of that rider and get us a horse. So shut your gape and let me do this, will ya?"

Once more, a chastened Abner fell silent.

Zeke took aim, centering on the middle of the rider's broad chest. He exhaled slowly, letting his pulse slow … and then he gently squeezed the trigger.

Behind him, the gaunt pony let out a soft neigh of greeting to the horse in the distance.

"Shit!" Zeke cursed to himself and tried frantically to rush his shot as the rider's big gelding pricked his ears and nickered back, the rider instantly tensing, hand falling to the revolver in his holster.

Zeke fired.

The echo of the shot cracked flatly in the still air and the big gelding let out a grunt of pain, cat-hopping forward and nearly unseating his rider. Zeke, now swearing loudly, worked the lever and put another round into the breech, aiming quickly. Beside him, Abner had his old Dragoon out, aiming ineffectually at the rider, knowing he couldn't hit him from this distance but willing to make the effort.

Zeke saw his target's revolver slip free of the holster even as he tried to control the obviously frightened horse, and Zeke realised he had creased the beast and missed the rider. Well, he had never claimed to be much of a shot with a rifle. He set his sites once more on the rider's chest, although the movements of the big man's horse made Zeke's aim poor at best. Snapping another shot, he was elated to see the rider's body jerk under the impact, his right hand flinging the revolver away from him in an arc as the heavy rifle bullet punched him bonelessly from the saddle. The big man sprawled on the dusty ground, tried to move once, and then was still.

"Got the sonofabitch!" Zeke grimaced in satisfaction.

But his elation soon turned to dismay as the big grey, already frightened and in pain from the deep bullet crease across his rump, became terrified as he felt his rider fall from the saddle and lie in a crumpled, bloody heap in the dirt.

Reins dangling, the gelding turned and high-tailed it at a gallop back towards Four Corners.

Zeke was beside himself with rage, and stood up, flinging down the rifle, tearing his battered Stetson from his grimy head and dashing it to the ground in disgust.

"Goddamit all to hell!"

Abner staggered to his feet beside his big brother, his jaw dropping in amazement.

"The damn' horse run off, Zeke! What're we gonna do now?"

Zeke Barnes had a sudden, irrational urge to punch his baby brother's rotting teeth firmly down his throat.

"Abner … if you wasn't my brother, and if I hadn't promised Ma I'd take care of ya, I'd break yer useless neck!" Zeke picked up his rifle, grabbed the reins of the scrawny pony and stumped off towards the fallen man, leaving a mystified Abner watching his brother's tense back.

"Jeez, Zeke … I only asked …"

Muttering to himself, Abner holstered his gun and followed his brother.

When they reached the fallen man, Zeke didn't feel much better. The big bull stood mournfully over the motionless figure, blinking woefully in the sunlight. Zeke studied the huge animal for a moment.

 _Hmm_ , he thought. _Seems quiet enough. Kinda stupid-lookin'_.

He hesitantly walked up to the body of his victim, and the bull just stood there, watching him. Zeke toed the body, feeling it give under the non-to-gentle shove of his boot, and the scruffy outlaw grinned. He leaned down and began to unbuckle Buck Wilmington's gunbelt, avoiding the blood-soaked shirt. At least they would get an extra weapon out of it, and some ammunition.

The body didn't move as Zeke worked the belt out from under the lax frame, and Zeke looked at the man's face, covered in blood from a deep gash on the forehead.

_Huh. Must've bashed his head when he fell._

Zeke was pretty sure that even if the bullet in the man's side hadn't killed him, the head wound would easily have finished the job. Abner was suddenly beside him, helping him lift the body so they could fully remove the gunbelt.

There was a soft groan.

Abner nearly jumped out of his skin, and Zeke cursed roundly. He saw the body move weakly, legs trying to curl into the bloody frame. Zeke pulled his revolver and began to thumb back the hammer, ready to pump a bullet into Buck Wilmington's prone body.

It was then Roly decided something was wrong.

The rifle shots had hardly made him blink, but the action of Buck's normally sedate and tolerant horse surprised the amiable bovine. He had heard a grunt of pure agony from the Adored One, and seen him fall from the horse in a limp, bloody heap. Roly stood for long moments, trying to make sense of what was happening, and the coppery scent of fresh blood made his muzzle twitch. Standing over Buck's body, he watched two strange, aggressive and decidely rank-smelling humans bend over Buck's unconscious form and begin to pull his gunbelt off.

Roly was deeply confused. These men didn't seem nice, not like Buck's friends, who although spending an inordinate amount of time yelling at either Buck or himself, seemed kind enough. But these two … well, they were different.

But then he heard the groan. Realisation finally sparked in his dim, kind brain, that perhaps these men had hurt The Adored One. Hurt him badly. And that made Roly very, very mad indeed.

Zeke lifted the revolver and began to take aim, slowly and carefully. His last conscious thought was one of vindictive pleasure … and then his life winked out in an instant as a massive head caught him under the armpit, the wickedly backward-curved horn hooking through his ribcage and smashing his ribs to splinters.

Roly grunted with anger as he hauled Zeke's weakly struggling body upwards and battered him into a nearby rock. Zeke didn't even manage a breath. The impact snapped his neck and his broken body crumpled like a rag doll. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Abner screamed.

The huge bull turned so swiftly at the noise that Abner didn't have time to run. Roly's massive bulk slammed into Abner's scrawny frame, bearing him down into the dirt where Roly proceeded to crush him to death, kneeling on the bloody wreck, pulverizing Abner Barnes into messy pulp.

Maddened by the scent of blood Roly didn't stop battering the unrecognizable thing that had once been a man for a long, long time.

* * *

Buck Wilmington drifted into consciousness to maddening, rough, drooling, slurpy licks on his face.

He tried to move away from whatever it was and instantly regretted it. Agony shot through his side and he yelped, which caused a bolt of pain the rip through his head.

"R … Roly … stop it … Godalmighty …"

Buck opened his eyes, squinting against the glare and heat of the sun and tried to focus. His mouth was parched and he swallowed painfully, knowing instinctively he was in deep, deep trouble. A huge head swam into sight, and a pair of limpid, bovine eyes blinked at him, the moist muzzle nosing at Buck's shoulder. Buck wondered why Roly's head and horns were blood-stained, and he lifted an unsteady hand to shove the beast away. Roly huffed and took a step backwards, pleased to see the Adored One reacting to his rather slobbery attentions.

Buck realised he was lying sprawled on his back on the dusty ground, and thought for a moment as to how he got there. His body ached, his side was on fire, and for the life of him he couldn't remember why. Had Roly done something to him? He dismissed the thought almost immediately. No, the big bull would hurt a fly. But why was Roly all bloody? Whose blood was it? His head hurt so much he shut his eyes again, trying to quell the throbbing in his skull.

God, he felt sick. Attempting to roll onto his side, Buck remembered why he was lying on the ground. _Shit! Somebody shot him!_ He grunted in pain and his hand fell to the source of the agony … and felt his shirt sodden with blood. He tentatively explored the damage, discovering to his shock that he had a bullet hole in his side, and every breath tore a ragged, painful gasp from him. He knew that feeling. Broken ribs. The bullet had skittered along his side and bust a couple, and then lodged under the skin. He could feel the lump, he realised, and groaned again. His head hurt so much …

Lifting his hand to the gash in his temple, he felt the slickness of more blood. He must have banged it when the bullet knocked him out of the saddle … his horse! Where the hell was his horse?

Raising his head gingerly he looked around. No horse. He swore. The animal must have skedaddled in fear, and Buck remembered the big grey throwing a coniption just before the slamming blow to his side. _Those sonsabitches shot his horse!_

Twisting his head he just managed to see the scrawny cow pony out of the corner of his eye, standing nervously beside something on the ground. What the hell ..? Buck's stomach roiled. That 'something' was a man. Or at least, what had once been a man. Now it was nothing more than a lump of meat wrapped in torn and bloody rags. He understood what Roly had done when he saw the other body lying in a broken heap by a rock - Roly had killed them. The big, stupid idiot of a bull had killed them to protect him … Buck Wilmington.

He sighed a short, shallow hitching breath and tried to make sense of his thoughts. He had to get out of here … get home. Get back to Four Corners and his friends. Yes, that's what he had to do. Once he was home, Nathan would take care of him and take the bullet out, and the rest of the fellas would watch out for him and make sure JD stayed out of trouble while he healed up.

Decision made, he now had to figure out just how he was going to get home. The pony. He had to catch the pony. Lying still for a few moments he marshaled his strength, then setting his teeth against the pain he managed to ease himself over onto his belly. He almost passed out, black spots swam before his eyes and he almost threw up … but he fought on. How he did it he didn't know, but he began to crawl, frighteningly slowly, towards the thin pony.

He almost made it.

A shaking, bloody hand reached out to grasp loose reins … and the pony backed off in fright. The scent of more fresh blood was too much for the maligned creature, and to Buck's horror it turned and cantered off into the jumble of rocks and disappeared.

Buck Wilmington would have happily given up right then and there. With a soft groan of pain and despair he dropped his head onto the ground, feeling sweat and blood mingle on his brow. If he didn't get help soon, he knew he could die out here in the middle of nowhere. He had to do something … but what?

 _Stop the bleedin' might be a good idea,_ he thought _. No use bleedin' to death 'fore you start._

Untying his bandana from around his neck with a shaky hand, he managed, after much struggling and grunts of pain, to press it against the bleeding wound in his side. Another fifteen minutes were taken up by pulling out his pants belt and rigging it around his waist to put pressure on the wound and to support the broken ribs. The effort exhausted him, and he had to lie still for a while until he recovered a little.

Now came the hard bit. How the hell was he going to get back to Four Corners?

His battered body was incapable of walking - hell, he could barely crawl, so that option was out. But as he lay there, eyes closed in pain and weariness, he felt Roly's warm breath on his cheek. Opening his eyes he saw the huge bull towering over him, huffing with concern.

Buck Wilmington grinned at the incongruity of it all. Brought to his end lying flat on his back, shot to hell by a couple of inept idiot outlaws, and guarded by the ugliest, stupidest bull he had ever seen. God, how he wished he was back in Four Corners, sitting outside the jail watching the children crawl all over Roly like some huge, living toy -

_That was it!_

Roly was the answer.

Reaching out, he managed to unravel the pathetic piece of string around Roly's bloodied horns and gently pulled downwards. Roly, pleased to have Buck's attention, obligingly lowered his bulky body to the ground, groaning with pleasure as he lay happily on his brisket, legs tucked neatly beneath him.

So far so good, Buck thought. Twisting his head around once more, he discovered his gun lying in the dirt only a couple of feet away, and with a great deal of effort Buck managed to snag it and slide it into his holster. His gunbelt was still loose, so he buckled it up and then he decided he was ready.

The next few minutes were a nightmare. His battered body fought the agony that ripped through it as Buck Wilmington determinedly battled to haul himself onto Roly's broad, warm back. Inch by painful inch, he used his fast-waning strength to settle astride the huge bull. Roly flicked an ear back once or twice, especially when the rowels of Buck's spurs caught his ribs by mistake, but otherwise the animal didn't move. It was as if he sensed how injured the Adored One was, and he stayed as still as he could, Buck swearing to himself as the wound and broken ribs sent fiery bolts of blinding pain through him at every move.

It took Buck what seemed to be a lifetime to sit slumped on Roly's back, the bull's fatty hump now becoming a lifeline as Buck held onto it with grim determination. Gasping with exhaustion he waited for the pain to ease, then he touched his spurred heels to Roly's side.

"C'mon fella … need ya … need ya to get up …" Buck's throat was hoarse. If only they could get to Aqua Verde at least, then he could quench his thirst and rest a little. He knew his grey gelding was on its way home to Four Corners, and that his _compadres_ would come looking for him. It was just a matter of time. He just hoped to hell he lived long enough for them to find him.

He felt Roly shift and Buck clutched at the hump in front of him. Roly rose to his feet rump foremost, almost pitching Buck over his head but the wounded man hung on for dear life, knowing this was his only chance. Roly stood quietly for a few moments, wondering why on earth the Adored One was sitting shakily on his back, but the bull finally figured it was some new game. Well, he decided, that was all right by him. As long as the Adored One was close by, he was happy. He felt a slight tug on the peg in his nose and Roly dutifully turned right, heading back the way they had come.

Sitting unsteadily on Roly's wide back, Buck lifted his hat from where it hung at his back and settled it on his head - he didn't need sunstroke to add to his already considerable problems. He sat as straight as he could and touched Roly's sides once more.

"All … all right, feller … let's go home …"

And Roly started forwards, dewlap swaying sedately as he set off towards Four Corners, Buck Wilmington hung on tightly, knowing that if he fell he would never be able to get back on. And if that happened, he knew without a doubt that he was a dead man.

TBC


	4. The Bull - Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Nathan Jackson was a worried man.

He carried on saddling his big bay, mentally checking off his medical equipment for the umpteenth time, hoping to God he had all of the stuff he needed if … no, he corrected himself, almost shamefully … _when_ they found Buck Wilmington.

He heard Josiah grunt with effort as he swung the heavy Mexican saddle onto the back of his sturdy sorrel, the big man otherwise silent as he tightened cinches. In the opposite stall he could hear Ezra talking quietly to Chaucer, and Nathan couldn't stop a lurch of concern for the gambler.

Ezra had risen from his sickbed, still pale and shaky from the after-effects of the desperately painful headache … and what was more, Nathan was surprised to learn, the normally self-serving and dedicated non-participant in anything remotely strenuous did it without complaint for once.

JD could be heard talking to Yosemite outside the livery stable, the young sheriff taking charge of the wagon the big blacksmith had loaned them, knowing that they were going to look for one of their own. Nathan could hear the subdued panic in JD's voice, and glanced over to the exhausted horse in the end stall, now munching tiredly on sweet hay.

Buck's grey gelding had cantered into town an hour earlier, sweat-covered and bleeding, with what looked like more blood on the saddle. Buck's blood, they were certain.

While Nathan and Yosemite had cared for the wounded beast, the remainder of the seven had quickly decided the best course of action, which was for Chris and Vin to stay in town as they were still not fit enough to ride, and for the others to go looking for their missing _compadre_. JD could drive the wagon they would surely need for bringing Buck home … the splashes of blood on the saddle were considerable, and Nathan secretly knew Buck could well be dead from blood-loss. _Dear God, what would they do without Buck …_

Swallowing the fear, Nathan swung into the saddle and joined his friends.

Chris and Vin were waiting for them, Chris still hobbling on his damaged foot and Vin with his arm in a sling, easing his broken ribs.

The black-clad gunman looked up at Josiah as he rode over to the two men.

"He was headin' straight for Jed's, Josiah, an' Buck isn't one for strayin' unless there's a pretty gal around … and I sure as hell don't think he'll find one out there. It's a pretty lonesome trail." He hesitated, and Josiah could see the pain in the green-gold eyes. Chris took a deep breath and continued. "You find him, Josiah. Find him an' bring him home, y'hear?"

Josiah nodded and set his broad-brimmed hat on his head.

"I hear you, Chris." The big preacher turned to go, then stopped for a moment, settling his azure gaze back on Larabee. "Y'know … we've been pretty hard on Buck these past few days, what with the saloon and Vin and all, and it wasn't his fault … any of it."

Chris ducked his head, and Vin could see the muscles working along his jawline.

"Yeah, I know," Larabee acknowledged. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his gut churning at the thought of Buck not being there any more … and of how his last words to him were full of anger and pain.

Vin looked at his two friends and raised his good hand to stroke the soft muzzle of Josiah's big sorrel.

"Well, I reckon we all got a lot of apologisin' to do when he gets back, huh, fellas?"

Josiah nodded.

"You got that right, Vin. We owe him a lot, and not just apologies." He turned his gaze once more to Larabee. "Have faith, Chris. Ol' Bucklin's tougher 'n hell, you know that better than any of us. We'll find him."

And before Chris could answer Josiah turned his horse and touched the gelding into a trot along the street out of town, Nathan and Ezra in his wake with JD driving the wagon, his little bay tied onto the tailgate.

Vin and Chris watched helplessly, both of them fretting at their uselessness and wanting to be with their friends. Vin dropped a hand on Chris' black-shirted shoulder.

"They'll find him, cowboy. An' they find him alive, too, I just know it."

Chris' eyes narrowed in the glare of the sun.

"I sure hope so, Vin. I sure do hope so …"

With that he settled himself down in his chair in front of the jail to wait.

* * *

Roly was pretty happy, all in all.

He was heading back to the nice place where the Adored One and his friends lived, where he had a regular supply of good food, lots of attention from the little humans that seemed to enjoy clambering about his big frame, and he had the constant companionship of the Adored One - although right now, Roly thought, Buck was too darned quiet.

The huge bull could feel Buck's long frame sprawled on his back, arm clutched tightly around the hump over Roly's withers, and Roly vaguely understood that if he tried to hurry Buck would slide from his back and fall onto the ground. _Why_ that would happen, exactly, Roly didn't understand, but he could smell the scent of blood constantly, and it made the big animal uneasy for some reason.

For a while there Roly had felt Buck gently touch his sides and urge him forward and the beast was happy to oblige, knowing Buck wouldn't do that unless there was a need for it, but for a while now the Adored One had just slumped silently on Roly's broad, comforting back. That was strange to say the least, Roly thought. He could also feel a long arm dangle uselessly down his shoulder, swaying limply with every step Roly took.

But Roly just kept on walking because the Adored One hadn't told him to do otherwise – and whatever the Adored One wanted, the Adored One got, as far as Roly was concerned. His muzzle twitched. Water. He could smell water. Roly was thirsty from his activities of the morning and his pace quickened imperceptibly, and to his relief he heard a small groan from Buck. But then he felt the man's body shift and the arm tighten convulsively around his hump, and instinctively Roly slowed his pace. If the Adored One wanted him to go slowly … then that was exactly what he would do, even if he was desperately thirsty.

It took the big animal the better part of an hour to reach the shade and coolth of Aqua Verde. By the time he ambled slowly into the shade of the trees he could feel something warm trickling down his side, and smelled fresh blood. The Adored One was bleeding, Roly figured, and he felt once more the churn of anger. Someone had hurt the Adored One, he remembered. He couldn't quiet recall who, but he knew that he had been very angry and he had leapt to the defence of the Adored One without hesitation.

The pull of the clear, cool water drew him on and he was eager to slake his thirst, but as he reached the sloping edge of the pool and dropped his head to drink, he felt once more the shift of the lax body on his back.

_The Adored One was going to fall ..._

An arm tightened almost painfully on Roly's hump and this time a deep groan of agony was ripped from the wounded man on his back.

Instantly Roly raised his head in alarm. He couldn't let him fall. No, the Adored One was sitting on his back for a reason, and it was Roly's job to keep him there, he was sure. Backing up awkwardly because Zebu bulls aren't really built to go in reverse, Roly gently wandered back up the slight incline and ambled carefully to stand under the biggest tree by the spring-fed pool. It was shady and cool in the heat of the day, and despite his thirst Roly stood still. The man on his back settled once more, and Roly heard a soft, feverish voice.

"G … good bull … good Roly …"

The bull's long, pendulous ears flicked happily at the sound of the voice, and he was content to stand and make sure the Adored One was safe and secure on his back, although he was dimly aware that Buck was now very sick. He could feel the heat emanating from the wounded body, and he was certain that if Buck fell from his back he would die. Quite how he knew, he wasn't sure, but his instincts made him stand perfectly still so Buck would be safe. Burping, he brought up a ball of cud and began to chew.

For a long time Roly stood quietly under the tree, feeling Buck slump more and more on his back, and the Adored One didn't speak to him again. Roly began to get lonely and concerned. He was thirsty and tired, and Buck Wilmington, Holder of the String and Person whom he Adored, was very, very still indeed. Roly was confused. And when Roly was confused, he did one thing that made the Adored One incredibly mad.

Roly began to bawl. He bawled long and loud, each repetitive _castrato_ bellow echoing in the still heat of the day.

But Buck Wilmington didn't move at all.

* * *

Josiah, Ezra and Nathan had spread out, each of them combing the trail to Jed Sommer's place. JD kept the wagon on the trail and he could see Nathan far to his left and Josiah heading through the brush on his big sorrel away to his right. He glimpsed Ezra's red ducktail coat ahead of him as the gambler checked out the rough road before the wagon destroyed any evidence that could be useful. JD fretted. Ezra wasn't the best tracker in the world, and he felt as though it should be himself out there looking for sign, but Josiah had decided otherwise. JD sighed. Perhaps the big preacher was right after all, as Ezra had a highly developed sense of self-preservation and caution was part and parcel of the man. Both Nathan and Josiah wanted to be mobile and ready in case of trouble, so that left JD in charge of the wagon.

But the young man was all chewed up inside. Buck was out there somewhere, hurt … maybe even dying … JD swallowed. He didn't want to think of that. No sir, Buck Wilmington was alive, he just knew it.

But his thoughts were interrupted as he saw Ezra halt and wait for them, Chaucer's ears pricking forward into the distance.

Ezra took off his hat and rubbed his eyes. The headache was returning thanks to the sun's glare on the dusty ground, and he was beginning to secretly wish he had taken Nathan's advice about not joining the search party. Taking a fine lawn handkerchief from his pocket he wetted it with water from his canteen and wiped it over his face, letting the cool cloth rest over his eyes for a moment. Feeling a little better, he was on the point of dribbling more water on the kerchief and draping it over the back of his neck when he heard something.

Very, very faintly, he heard a sound not unlike the one made by a horse thief who had once made the fatal mistake of trying to purloin his beloved Chaucer. The thoroughbred had neatly side-stepped the oaf's clumsy lunge for his bridle, lifted a back hoof and placed it with devastating power and breathtaking accuracy in the man's groin. The noise now repeating itself faintly but regularly in the distance sounded almost exactly the same as the miscreant's strangled bellow of pure agony.

Ezra turned, squinting against the sun as Josiah and Nathan came to join him, JD following behind in the wagon.

"You all right, Ezra?" Nathan could see the pain on the gambler's lean face.

But Ezra lifted a finger to his lips, signalling his compatriots to be quiet.

"Listen …"

JD brought the wagon to a halt and silence fell, only punctuated by the occasional creak of leather or jangle of a bit.

The noise came again, wavering in the slight breeze that had sprung up from the west. Nathan's eyebrows raised.

"Sounds just like that feller Chaucer kicked in the unmentionables that time."

Ezra nodded.

"Exactly. But I know it can't be that particular gentleman as he now resides in Yuma prison, so it must be something else."

Josiah's face cleared.

"It's that damn' bull! I'd know that bawl anywhere!"

Nathan looked at him.

"You sure?"

Josiah grinned.

"You try havin' the thing tied up outside your window for a day and see if it don't drive you to drink! It's the bull all right, and it's comin' from Aqua Verde!"

They all looked at one another. They knew that the big bull would not be parted from Buck if his life depended on it, so it followed that wherever the bull was, they were sure to find Wilmington. The spring was a few miles from the main trail, but Buck might just have headed in that direction to rest up for the night, or to water his horse and the big Zebu.

JD gathered up the reins and lifted his foot off the heavy shoe-brake, turning the two-horse team towards the monotonous bawl in the distance.

"So? What are we waitin' for?"

Josiah turned his big gelding, azure eyes alight. Touching the sorrel into a lope he led the way through the brush towards Aqua Verde, and, he fervently hoped, a still-living Buck Wilmington.

* * *

The bawl became louder and louder as the four regulators saw green trees and small pool ahead of them, and Ezra squinted through the fading haze of early evening as he sat at an easy lope on Chaucer's back. He could just make out the shape of the huge bull under one of the trees, the monotonous bawl beginning to sound hoarse and dry. He screwed his eyes up tighter … there was something odd about the indistinct shape of the big beast …

"Good Lord! It's Buck!"

They touched their horses into more speed, JD trailing behind, trying hard not to wear out the team or wreck a wheel in the coarse brush.

Roly stood stock-still under the biggest, most sheltering tree around the waterhole, his head raised and emitting the most ear-splitting honks that Ezra had ever heard, although the animal was obviously very tired, his normally moist muzzle now dry and roughened.

And there, sprawled limply on the bull's broad back, was Buck Wilmington.

Nathan decanted from the saddle before his big gelding came to a stop, yelling at JD to hurry up and get the wagon set up. Ezra and Josiah ground-hitched their mounts and ran towards Roly, ready to ease Buck's limp body from the bull's back.

But all Roly could see were more men intent on harming the Adored One. Stopping his inexorable bawling and careful not to dislodge the precious cargo on his back, he lowered his head and snorted threateningly. Ezra and Josiah ground to a halt and stepped back in alarm.

Buck hadn't moved in a long time, and Roly didn't want any more harm to come to him, especially from more humans. He saw the big, dark man take a few steps towards him and he tossed his head gently, and Nathan decided it would be wise to keep his distance for now.

JD trundled up in the wagon, hazel eyes wide with shock at the sight of Buck Wilmington's limp frame, bloody and filthy, draped on the bull.

"Nathan! We got to get him down off there! Why the hell ain't you doin' somethin' - "

"Hush up, boy!" Josiah's voice was a low rumble. "Damn bull thinks we're gonna hurt Buck!"

The four men stood back, wondering how the hell they were going to get Buck and Roly separated with no damage to either themselves or Wilmington. Hell, Nathan couldn't tell if Buck was even still alive. The tall gunman's head hung on one side of the hump, his hat having fallen off, and dark, blood-stained hair shadowed his face. More blood stained his side and had trickled down to mark Roly's fish-white hide. But Nathan was relieved to see the makeshift bandage strapped around Buck's ribs. He could also just make out the fragile string in Buck's lax hand. But he knew he had to get to Buck somehow, and he couldn't think how the hell they were going to do it without endangering themselves. Looking at Josiah and Ezra, he knew they were also thinking the same, and without saying a word Josiah turned back to his sorrel and slid his Winchester rifle from its saddle boot.

JD blinked in surprise, his fear for Buck over-riding any logical thought process.

"What are you gonna do?"

Josiah's mouth set grimly.

"I'm gonna have to shoot the bull, JD."

"WHAT?" JD looked back at Buck. He was so still, it made JD's heart miss a beat in terror. "No Josiah, you can't! What about Buck? What if you miss? I mean, what if the bull falls on him - "

"JD, we'll have to take the chance. We can't wait any longer … look at Buck, son." Josiah's blue eyes were gentle. "He's hurt bad, JD, and we just can't wait around until the animal thinks we're not gonna do any harm, now can we?"

JD was in a quandary. He had always got on with the huge bovine, even feeding Roly the lucerne hay he had purloined from Yosemite, and the gentle beast had enjoyed a scratch from the young sheriff.

"Let me try." JD looked up at Josiah, seeing the look of doubt on the big preacher's face.

"Let him, Josiah. Lord knows what damage might occur should the bull fall the wrong way, and after all, the beast does know him." Ezra was thoughtful, watching how Roly's ears flicked forward at the sound of JD's voice.

Josiah looked over at Nathan and saw the big healer shrug. Hell, anything was worth trying if it meant no more damage to Buck. He rested the Winchester on his shoulder for a moment as he weighed up the pros and cons. He sighed.

"All right, son. But if he starts gettin' uppity then I'll have to drop him where he stands. If I have to do that, then I want you fellers to get Buck out of there as quick as you can."

As Nathan and Ezra fanned out to one side, ready to dash in and catch Buck as the bull toppled, JD began to move forward as Josiah settled the rifle in the fork of a branch to steady his aim. The big man was a good shot, but he knew he had only one chance at this – if he missed or just wounded the bull, God only knew what the crazy animal would do.

"Stay out of my line of fire, JD!" Josiah tucked the rifle butt in the hollow of his shoulder and sighted in on the space between Roly's eyes.

JD Dunne began to walk slowly but confidently towards Roly, his voice low, the words soft, the young man trying to keep the hitch of panic out of it.

"Hey, fella … remember me? JD … I brought you all that tasty grub that time, remember? It was pretty good, huh? Now why don't you just relax and let us take care of Buck there… he's hurt bad, you know, and Nathan here'll be able to patch him up good as new …"

Josiah began to exhale slowly, letting his pulse slow so it couldn't affect his aim, and his index finger tightened gently on the trigger of the Winchester carbine.

Roly watched the figure of the young human walking towards him, his voice soft and gentle. He let out a warning snort and his head bobbed threateningly. But even as he began to lower his head and use his bulk to protect the Adored One, Roly's few active brain cells began to work overtime. The voice … it was familiar … where had he heard it before? The tone in the young man's voice was friendly, and Roly had been starved of friendliness for the past few hours. And didn't this young one hang around with the Adored One? Buck Wilmington, Holder of the String, appeared to be protective of this strange-hatted youth.

"JD! It's not going to work, son! Get out of the way - " Josiah's voice was velvet-rough, strained in its urgency. Nathan and Ezra took a couple of hesitant steps forward, preparing to dash in and lift Buck's body away from the bull as it dropped into a kicking heap as Josiah's bullet ploughed into its brain.

Roly's ears twitched in recognition.

"Wait!" JD held up a hand. "I think it's all right!"

He moved closer … and closer … and his shaky hand reached out and gave Roly a tentative scratch on the forehead. For long seconds, nothing happened … and then Roly let out an explosive groan of pleasure as his head began to bob up an down in delight.

There were hefty sighs of relief as JD let the big bull relax, now rubbing both hands over the massive – albeit blood-stained – head, and Roly snaked out his prehensile tongue to lick his arm. He stood for a few moments, letting Roly get used to his presence, all the while looking desperately at Buck for some sign of life. But when he began to ease the string from Buck's limp hand, JD's heart leapt as he heard a soft groan.

"Buck! Buck, you're alive!" When JD touched Buck's hand, he felt the warmth of life in the bloody skin.

As the others carefully approached, trying hard not to startle the big beast, JD saw Buck's dark head stir. It lifted and hazy cobalt eyes, reamed with pain, stared back at him in amazement.

"That … that you, JD?" Buck's voice was a fevered whisper.

"NATE! Get over here!"

Strong hands lifted Buck from his back, and Roly was on the point of barging forward to see what these strange men were doing with the Adored One, but the young human was holding his nose-string and Roly could no more fight against the string than harm Buck. But the youngster was very kind to him even though Roly could feel the waves of fear rolling off the lad, but not in fear of Roly – oh no, it was fear for the Adored One, and therefore Roly stood quietly, knowing these humans were caring for Buck and not attempting to hurt him.

The next hour was hard on the big Zebu. There was a lot of fussing and cursing, mostly to do with Buck, and the massive bull stood quietly with JD, the young man soothing him with a voice that wasn't too steady itself. JD had taken him for a drink at the pool, but once Roly had slaked his thirst he pulled gently to get back to Buck, even though JD tried to wash the blood from Roly's off-white hide. By the time they got back to the shady tree, Nathan, Josiah and Ezra had lifted Buck into the wagon, the big gunman heavily bandaged and looking ghastly. But he was alive, and that was all that mattered.

With Buck safely ensconced in the wagon and Nathan sitting beside him, making sure he came to no more harm, Josiah swung into the saddle of his sorrel.

"Jed's place is nearest – Missus Sommers'll be happy to take care of Buck, I reckon, and we can deliver the bull while we're at it. JD, you drive the wagon – and take it easy, Nate don't want Buck jolted, y'hear?"

JD clambered onto the wagon seat, casting a worried look at his surrogate big brother lying warmly under blankets in the cooling evening. It would take a couple of hours to get to Jed's ranch, and the young man fretted privately that Buck wasn't strong enough for the trip, but he knew in his heart that they had no choice. Buck needed care and rest, and he needed it as quickly as possible.

"JD …"

The deep voice was hoarse.

JD reached down and clasped the sweat-damp hand that reached up to him shakily.

"Hush up, Buck! Don't you worry now, you're gonna be safe and sound soon as we get to Jed's, and you can rest up." JD smiled although he felt far from happy.

Buck's blue eyes tried to focus on JD's face above him in the gloom, attempting to make out the features of the young man.

"Good … good to see you, JD. Take care … take care of Roly for me … the stupid sonofabitch … saved my sorry hide …"

JD's face softened.

"Yeah … I know. Don't worry … Ezra's takin' real good care of him …"

Behind the wagon came a tumble of distinctly ungentlemanly swearing.

"Dammit! Mr Sanchez, could you please do something about this … this … beast of Satan!" JD heard a sultry slurp. Chaucer stamped in irritation. "Oh Lord …" There was a spate of soft curses as Ezra tried valiantly to remove Chaucer from Roly's all-too-damp affections, and JD grinned as he imagined the damp cow-licks marring Chaucer's elegant chestnut rump. "Mr Sanchez, I don't see why – goddammit, will you _stop_ that!" Slurp, slurp. "Aw hell! Josiah? Josiah! If you don't take charge of this disgusting creature, I swear I'll … I'll …"

"Ezra?" Josiah's deep tones rumbled in the darkening night.

"WHAT?" The dismay in Ezra's voice even made Nathan smile.

"Shut up."

Nathan and JD heard a painful chuckle from the wagon-bed.

"Animal magnetism, Ez … that's what it is … goddamn animal magnetism …"

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

"Mister Wilm'ton, Mister Wilm'ton, riders comin'! Real fast too!"

Buck Wilmington opened his eyes and eased himself a little more upright in the chair on the porch of Jed Sommers' ranch-house and looked at the speaker.

Jedediah Sommers Junior, aged seven-and-three-quarters, looked wide-eyed at Buck and waved an eager hand at the shimmer of horsemen in the distance.

"They're comin', Mister Wilm'ton, me an' Sam'l seen 'em! We did, honest!" Jedediah indicated his four-year-old brother standing beside him, thumb in mouth, still overawed by Buck's presence even though the big gunman had been residing at the ranch for the past three weeks as he recuperated.

Buck grinned and winked at the two youngsters.

"Well, boys, I guess you did! You go tell your Pa they're comin', huh?"

Jedediah nodded, Samuel echoing his brother's actions solemnly, thumb still firmly stuck in his mouth. He turned to go and fetch his father from the barn, then stopped for a second.

"'Are you goin' home, Mister Wilm'ton?"

Buck nodded.

"Yep. I'm all healed up thanks to your Momma's good cookin' son, and I'm sure gonna miss all that fussin' she does. A fine lookin' woman, your Ma."

Jedediah grinned back, brown eyes all a-sparkle.

"When Sam'l gets sick, Ma makes him drink cod liver oil. Awful nasty stuff, Mister Wilm'ton. Tastes like boogers."

Samuel nodded sagely in agreement.

"Landsakes, Jedediah Aaron Sommers, will you stop bothering Mister Wilmington and go tell your Pa we got visitors! An' take Samuel with you!" Kate Sommers emerged from the ranch-house door with a plate of warm biscuits still wrapped in a flour-cloth.

Buck's eyes crinkled appreciatively.

"Miz Sommers, you sure know how to spoil a man! I reckon I've had to let out my belt a couple of notches these past couple of weeks, but I ain't complainin'!"

Kate Sommers looked down at him and frowned thoughtfully for a few moments, remembering how sick and hurt he had been three weeks earlier, when Josiah Sanchez had hammered on their door asking for their help. With Jed's help they had carried him into the house and bedded him in the boys' bedroom. For the next few days Buck had fought a high fever, and Nathan Jackson hovered and worried, while other members of the seven flitted in and out of the room like forlorn shadows – none more so than that dear young sheriff, John Dunne – JD, they called him, she remembered. Kate had become very fond of all seven of them over those weeks, and although only in her middle twenties herself, mothered them like an old broody hen. Vin Tanner and Chris Larabee turned up after a few days, still sore but desperate to see their friend, and she had made sure they were all fed and watered, enjoying the company now Buck was on the road to recovery.

Buck eased himself to his feet, side still achy but mending, the scar in his hairline pink with healing skin. He turned to Kate, now watching the bunch of six riders, and noticed the fetching glow on her face from the heat in her kitchen, and the unconscious grace of her strong body as he hand rested on the rise of the child in her abdomen.

_Lord, look at her! Prettier than a June day. One day, Buck Wilmington, you'll get yourself a fine-lookin' woman and a couple of boys like Jedediah and Samuel. One day …_

And Buck's big heart lurched as Sarah and Adam came into his mind.

He turned to watch his friends ride into the yard, and his moustachioed face split into a huge grin as he saw the big grey gelding, saddled and ready, led by a cheerful JD Dunne.

"Hey, Buck! Ready to go home?"

"Sure am, JD, though I tell you I'm gonna miss this fine lady an' these boys here!"

"You ain't gettin' her, Buck, she's spoke for, so stop tryin' to turn her head, y'hear?"

Jed Sommers strolled smiling across the yard from the barn, a tall man in his early thirties, hazel-green eyes sparkling with pleasure as he saw his wife blush at Buck's charm and innocent twinkling eyes.

Buck grinned at the young rancher who had taken him into his home and made him feel part of a family, if only for a short while. _But then_ , he thought, _maybe I got myself a family already_ … and he took in the six men in front of him, seeing the relief and pleasure in their eyes, knowing he, Buck Wilmington, was going home with them safe and well.

"Well, Jed, I'll tell you now if I'd seen her first I'd've hogged-tied her an' married her m'self!" Buck stuck out a fist and Jed shook hands with the big man. "Jed … I don't know how to thank you for takin' me in. It's an honour to know you and your family."

Jed looked into clear cobalt eyes and nodded.

"You're always welcome here, Buck, you know that. You and all of your friends." He smiled. "An' the boys'll be wantin' to hear more stories about huntin' bad guys and suchlike. It ain't every day you get the Magnificent Seven comin' to the house!"

Jedediah and Samuel had been enthralled at the tales told by Ezra and Buck and the stories of far-off lands and great myths and legends coming from a drowsy Josiah as he sat on the porch with JD, waiting for Buck to heal.

Buck nodded and turned, tipping his hat to Kate who blushed again, and crouched down to say goodbye to Jedediah and Samuel, the boys finally throwing arms around him for a hug. Standing up, he took the reins of the grey from JD, running his hands over the big gelding and checking him out. Apart from a long, healing gouge on his rump the big animal was in fine fettle and snorted softly at his master, lipping affectionately at Buck's sleeve.

Satisfied that all was well with the horse, he hesitated for a moment, then looked back at Jed. The tall young rancher smiled his soft, slow smile.

"He's in the north forty if you want to go say goodbye. I turned him out with a bunch of heifers."

Buck swung gingerly into the saddle, feeling his side pull a little, but the pain went as quickly as it had come. He looked at his _compadres_.

"Fellas …"

Chris grinned at his oldest friend.

"Go, Buck. We'll wait."

"I have fresh coffee and biscuits straight from the oven if you fellers are hungry," chipped in Kate Sommers. Murmurs of pleasure came from the rest of the Seven – Kate was a fine cook, and her biscuits were melt-in-the-mouth.

Buck turned the big grey and headed north, touching the gelding into a lope as he headed out to Jed's north pasture.

* * *

The sun set the slow trickle of water a-glimmer in the small creek that ran pure crystal water from the distant mountains, providing Jed Sommers' burgeoning herd of cattle with cool shade amongst the trees that grew along the bank.

Buck let the big grey wander happily towards the small bunch of cattle he saw in the distance, dozing in the shade of cottonwoods, tails flicking in the mid-day heat. He sat easy in the saddle, letting the motion of the horse soothe his mind.

His first conscious memory after coming around from the fever was of comfort and care. Instinctively he had known his friends were there, and for the first terribly weak and sore days of healing they had talked to him quietly, telling him everything that had happened as he didn't remember much, and how things had worked out. Then had come the apologies … soft, heart-felt apologies, all of them realising how close they had come to losing Buck Wilmington just because he took their blame to heart. Blame he had not deserved.

Buck grinned to himself.

Still, at least Jed didn't have to pay for the repairs to the Standish Tavern, and Ezra had heaved a sigh of relief that he wouldn't have to wait a lifetime for the money, as he would have done if Wilmington had had to fork out the cash.

JD and Josiah had found the fly-blown carcasses of Zeke and Abner Barnes, and after the boy had finished heaving his guts up, they had managed to find enough proof of identification and then hauled what was left of the bodies back to Four Corners, where the substantial bounty on the two miscreants would more than fund Ezra's repairs. It still wouldn't stop Ezra bitching about it for a year and a day, Buck knew, but at least the gambler wouldn't be out of pocket.

What was left had gone to Jed Sommers, Buck had decided, seeing as it was his bull that had brought the villains to book.

Buck reined in the grey and pushed back his hat, squinting in the bright, clear sunlight. Jed would use the money wisely, if the small herd of heifers was anything to go by. This was Jed's pride and joy, this little bunch of white-faced heifers, sired by one of the first Hereford bulls brought into the country. Blocky and sturdy, they nevertheless carried the wildness of their Texas Longhorn dams and their wariness at the approach of the rider sent them moving uneasily away into the trees. But one animal remained. The bright sunshine set the off-white hide glistening, and the hump on the beast's withers wobbled as the huge bull turned to look at the new arrival.

Buck sat for a moment, watching Roly, seeing how at home he seemed here in the Colorado hills. He hadn't meant to do anything but check that the big bovine was all right, but he found himself walking the grey over to a fallen tree and dismounting, leaving the big horse ground-hitched as he sat down on the tree.

Roly blinked for a moment. The scent of the human was familiar as it wafted to him on the gentle breeze. It meant companionship, comfort … and scratches. Lots and lots of scratches. He decided it was time to say hello, and tried to remember who this human was whose presence drew him like a magnet.

Buck watched Roly with renewed wonder. The massive animal glistened in the sun, muscles rippling under the fine-haired hide, dewlap swaying majestically like the well-bred aristocrat he was. He didn't see anymore the ugliness of the hump, the ungainly, slow walk of the beast … Buck realised Roly was magnificent. In his prime, the animal was the epitome of masculinity.

The bull drew close and the moist muzzle twitched in slight recognition, limpid eyes studying the tall man. Buck reached out a hand to let the bull smell it, unafraid.

"Hey, Roly. How are you, ol' pal?"

Recognition hit Roly like an express train.

 _The Adored One_! It was The Adored One, Buck Wilmington, Holder of the String! Except, Roly remembered, his new master had taken away the string and the nose peg, telling Roly no self-respecting bull had a peg in his nose. Roly didn't understand, but he didn't mind. It felt nice not to have the blasted thing stuck through the cartilage of his sensitive nose. But the tiny thought disappeared in a moment as Buck began scratching Roly's massive head, centring on the spot … ohhh, right there … just … just … _there_! Behind his poll, exactly between the huge, floppy ears. Roly almost squirmed with pleasure, his head bobbing ecstatically. His beautiful and sultry heifers assuaged other needs in the big animal regularly, and they would even lick his hide with rough tongues on occasion, but none of them scratched him like this! He let loose a soft grunt of delight.

"Feels good, huh?" Buck scratched harder, seeing the hazy pleasure in the bull's brown eyes. He carried on for a couple of minutes and then stopped, grinning as Roly nuzzled impatiently at his sleeve. The bull sighed when he realised no more scratchies were forthcoming, but was satisfied just to stand over Buck as he sat on the tree, listening happily as Buck began to talk.

"You're somethin', else, you know that Roly?" Roly blinked, mystified. He didn't know what the Adored One was saying, but it sounded nice. "Dumb critter you may be, my friend, but you did a brave thing out there when you saved my ass." Buck scratched Roly along his jaw, and the animal leaned into his touch, eyes bugging. Buck's face softened. "I didn't think you had it in you, feller. You stopped 'em shootin' me and then you tried to keep me safe …" Unable to speak for a moment due to the lump in his throat, Buck tugged one of the enormous, pendulous ears in affection. He knew the bull didn't understand what he was saying, but Buck Wilmington was not a man who shunned those who did him a good turn. "Thanks Roly. Thanks for everything."

A long, prehensile tongue crept out and swiped at Buck's face, leaving the usual trail of frothy goo on Buck's moustache.

"Aw, shit Roly! That's disgusting - "

Buck swore and Roly listened. Things were back to normal, the bull thought, sighing with pleasure.

After a while Buck stood up, knowing he had to go or it would be dark before they reached Four Corners, but he halted for a moment as he saw the big bull watching him trustingly. Roly had always trusted him implicitly. Looking around for a moment to check that no-one was watching, Buck suddenly flung long arms around Roly's massively muscled neck and gave him a full-blown, Patent Wilmington Bear-Hug.

Roly sighed again. The Adored One was fit and well and still cared for him, and all was right with the world in Roly's opinion.

Breaking off the hug, Buck slapped the bull on the shoulder while blinking back tears.

"Now git, you moron! Go back to your ladies, they're waitin' for ya … and you know you never keep a pretty lady waitin'. It ain't good manners."

He caught up the reins on the grey and swung into the saddle, Roly still watching him.

"Go on now! Don't you worry, I'll be back to see you next time I'm headed this way, you know that."

And as Buck uttered the words he knew the truth of it. He would return in the spring to see Roly's first calves, and it brought an anticipation to his heart that had not been there since he and Chris began their horse-raising venture so many years ago. Hell, he might even save a little money and buy a couple of cows. Jed wouldn't mind letting him turn 'em out with ol' Roly next year …

He looked back at Roly, standing now with head raised, scenting the breeze. He was Lord of all he surveyed, Buck thought, as he saw the huge bull slowly turn and head back to his small band of heifers now standing at the tree-line waiting for him. He watched as Roly sauntered in his unhurried way, and grinned.

"Remember, Roly ol' pal … do just like I told you. Walk, don't run …"

He gazed at the magnificent backdrop of the mountains and scented the sweetness in the air. It was good to be alive, fit and healthy, and in the prime of life, and to have the ladies fall all over themselves to keep a man company. _Animal magnetism certainly has its uses_ , he thought.

Sighing in satisfaction, he smiled.

_Well, if you got it, flaunt it, that's what I say …_

And touching the big grey into a lope he set off to rejoin his friends.

**Finis**


End file.
